The sun. [volume] (Morris, Stevens County, Minn.) 1882-1895, 1887-09-22
Captain lie Mars Story.

years ago, funeral procession wound
its way through the streets of st. San
vcur. towards the small but well-cared
for cemetcr.
1t was n soldiers funeral. A guard
walked beside the tlower-strewn bier.
Two in two. with bent heads. the
soldiers followed it. The muffied
drums beat heavily. "Ashes to ashes.
dust to dust" they seemed to say.
Women looked from their windows
rs the sad procession ma, ched on.
HE is gone at last. this poor Cap
tain LIE Mar" said one.
"And happy release for hint" sigh
ed another.
"Never did brave soldier live with
so many wounds, such dreadful multi
atoms Yet he was handsome still-a
beautiful face; ] saw it in the coffin"
said another.
Then they crossed themselves and
went back to work.
One only of those soldiers returned
to the house in which their dead CON-
rade had dwelt. after the ceremonies
were over the colonel of the regiment
To him, in his dying hours. poor LIE
Mar had given little note, in which
he had read these words:
My Old Friend, / am gone,
l desire you to take from my desk q
small packet of manuscript which you
will find there. 1t is the story of my
life. Even to you have been reticent
but now DIES re you to know all. You
may think ME mailman when you
have read the story; and. indeed. no
one can know whether he is mad or
not. but you know me too we'll to
suspect me of falsehood. The truth of
what ! have written is as absolute to
me as that of m. own existence.
Read it and do what you will with it.
Yours evcr. LIE MAR.
1t was to obtain this legacy that the
colonel retraced his steps to the home
of his dead comrade that day. AS LIE
Mar had said. he knew nothing of his
life save that they had fought together,
yet he had ALWAYS felt that some mys-
terry surrounded him, that there were
sorrows in the past too great to be
spoken of.
At the dead of night, in the solitude
of his own room. Colonel Mestayer un-
rolled the paper, covered by the words
his friend had written, and read the
following stor.:
Dear Mestayer. Before I become a
soldier l lived with my father in cha
teau near Paris. was his young est
son, and in his way he was fond of me
his kindness, however, depended al
together on my implic obedience.
/ Ike most young men had fallen in
love. The object of my affection was
not lady of my own rank in life; she
was poor little shop girl named
Airline
I have always thought her the sweet
est thing on earth; certainly her black
eyes and her long. glittering, waving
black hair were charms any woman
might have envied. Inever mentioned
Airline at home, of course. that you
quite understand. Her grandfather was
little old man who carved wooden
brackets for living. and they lived on a
fourth floor in very poor neighbour
hood.
When was five and twenty years Of
age my father said to me:
''Adolph, it is time for you to marry.
I have selected a wife for you. 1t is
young Mademoiselle Moran"
but I have no wish to marry"
said.
Il desire it, said my father. mile.
Moran's beauty, position and wealth
render most eligible wife for you.
Her father approves of you; he will
give you a fine portion, and, if you
marry according to my wishes, I will
settle suitable sum upon you and
give you the pretty chateau at St.
Sauveur, which you have always ad-
mired. ! can afford to be generous to
an obedient son, but, if am offended
with you, what have you?"
mot a SOUS
"Ah, WE'LL" said he, II see you un.
derstand the situation.
He walked away from me well salts
fled remained where he had left
me. l asked myself what should do.
I could not tell him that loved some
one else. Love had nothing to do with
his plans. l could not tell him that an.
othe loved ME. What would he care
for little shop girl without penny
in her purse? With his consent
should never marry her, even were
there no Mile. Moran on earth. l nigh
res st his authority and marry Airline
After that, perhaps l might teach music
for livelihood. l knew someth ing o
the art. And then, if we two coulc
live in garrett, we might be happy
Could we? Could 1? I thought of m,
own elegant home; OF the style in
which I had always lived; of the luxu
ries that had grown to be necessities tt
me. l shuddered.
Perhaps time will help me-" l said t.
myself. Il will not anger my fathe
yet. will remain passive. I viii
never marry Mademoiselle Moran; bu
if it amuses the old people to talk o
our betrothal, let them do it."
So saved my conscience. Once O.
twice a week my father took me for
mally to call upon young Mademoisell'
!. Moran. The rest of the evening
made love to my little Airline. Sh'
lived with her old grandfather on al
upper floor in a dismal street, but tn
> room was bright and clean enough
and she was as pretty and as fresh as
rose.
Together we supped upon bread an